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2014.04.14 - The Court of Owls - The Reveal
Tesladyne Industries. On the outside, it resembles the Ghostbusters Firehouse HQ from the movie; on the inside, it's a bustling office space with cubicles, people in white shirts and ties, and lab-coats. The basement, however, is much larger; a sprawling laboratory that extends beneath the streets of New York City and contains every manner of SUPER-SCIENCE you can imagine. The laboratories here are separated by panes of glass and sterile, white walls; unusual, plastic-looking robots are being assembled behind the glass -- along with equipment being tested, experiments being run, and notes being taken. The elevator that leads to this part of the facility hisses, opening; standing inside of it is one: Edward Nygma, and Atomic Robo. The latter is a metal man, squat and pug-looking, with bright, luminescent blue eyes -- and a honolulu shirt that's so bright it's darn near radioactive. He's got on tan cargo pants beneath that, and army boots -- with an unusual looking 'lightning pistol' strapped to his left. As he walks, he also talks, his synthesized voice humming besides Nygma: "We just received notice that one of the bigger pieces of technology -- the android -- was slagged. Thank goodness. That thing was ridiculously dangerous. As to the rest of our stolen technology, we're assembling it slowly -- whatever leads you have in regards to who has it would be much appreciated. Though, honestly, it's not the weaponizable stuff that worries me..." Edward was giddy; this was the part of the work he liked best. He was in a new environment, with a new riddle, drinking up the stimuli like a dry drunk at an open bar. Sobreity was long forgotten; his brain was engaged and he was working at the riddle. "Well, after having a Talon breaking in my home, I still have some concerns about them having any sort of technology. I was wondering-- you've been around quite some time...I'd appreciate your perspective on the Court of Owls, or their immitators, whichever they may be." Edward was certain they were real. Riddles and rhymes hid the truth within lies. This was just another example. "They certainly sound old school, whoever they are. Have a theme, sticking to it -- traditionalists," Robo states, and it's clear from his tone that he considers this to be a point in their favor. "Nowadays, an organization like that would call themselves the 'Blood Murder Ninjas' and consist of dual-katana-wielding cyborgs fueled by the souls of orphans or something like that. I think," he adds as he strides down the hall toward the door at the end, "I actually read that comic." This is a much larger door than the others; circular, it has the appearance of a bank vault -- except sleeker and more futuristic. Robo types in a series of numbers into the keypad in front of him -- twenty digits in all -- and then leans forward, an optic-scanner sweeping down over one bright, gleaming blue eye. And then there is a hiss, and a clunk, and a rumble, and... the massive door begins to roll aside. Revealing the interior of... another lab. A much messier, much more chaotic lab -- wires everywhere, computers mounted on the walls (some of them looking straight out of the 80s!); there are machines that look like they were stolen from the set of a 1950s Frankenstein movie -- vacuum tubes, Tesla coils... intermingled with sleek, incredibly modern equipment. "My lab," Robo informs Edward as he steps inside. "I'm afraid that if you're looking for more intel on the Court of Owls, I'm not your guy -- I've been out of the vigilante business for a couple of decades, now. Plus, Gotham was never my haunt. I hate New Jersey," he adds. But then, as the door closes behind them: "That being said, there is... a piece of intel I have. Regarding one of the technologies that was stolen -- and, uh, now that you're mentioning the owl thing..." Robo, don't talk like that. Edward just wants to sit with him and ask him perspective question. The robot's twice his age, with such varied experiences! Imagines it! "I'm well aware of your history," he said. Who liked New Jersey, really? Well, Edward loved Gotham, even though he was a Conneticut Transplant. "But still, stories and rumors travel, and you've done the same. Groups like them... they have commonality. They have patterns. But..." He tried to keep focused with all the potential distractions. "Please, do go on. Anything that can help me track down the ringleaders to this operation is of incredible value." Robo hums. "Well -- I can tell you that last time I fought a secret society run by mysterious animal-themed loonies... they're all about presentation, pomp and circumstance -- usually, they're all just getting scammed by the guy in charge, who's running an angle. Sometimes he's crazy; sometimes he's just in it for the money. But he's always dangerous." The locker near the far-end of Robo's lab is large; about the size of a fridgerator. It too has a number pad; it requires about twenty numbers. When he's finished, the locker produces a low-level hiss, pneumatics kicking in -- metal rods slide out of place to allow the heavy doors to swing open and expose the interior. Several shelves are placed within, each holding the parts of a disassembled... ...Atomic Robo. Not quite, though. He looks a little different -- a little blockier, bigger, more menacing. The eyes are smaller, and though they are 'off', they have a slight red tint to them; there are also what appears to be several 'lightning guns' that were once attached to the robot, but have been carefully stripped off and put aside. His torso -- the largest part of him -- is notably absent from the rack. "Mr. Nygma," Robo thrums besides him as he reveals the disassembled robot. "What do you know about parallel dimensions?" "....Jesus." Ahem. That's. Well. The quip he was going to make about things, you know -- animal themed men in charge of cultish groups, and Batman... but it died on his tongue as the last vault opened. "I once investigated a case where the alternate universe thief was myself I had to leave town for a week since I couldn't catch him. It was.... very awkward." Very, very awkward. "Scored a week in Aruba, though. And promptly got banned from their casinos." He crept closer, clearly amazed. This was a Robo, but it was not. It also gave him clues to the core issue -- somewhere, there was a core consciousness, contained in the full torso. Or, he was 'dead'... but he doubted that was the case, Robo was well known for his kinder and compassionate nature. "You like Star Trek, Robo?" "--always liked Picard more than Kirk. But yeah," Robo replies, turning to look back at Nygma. "You see where this is going. During World War 2, I worked with the US military -- fought in the 'Weird War' against various Nazi super-science projects. Even ran a mission or two with Captain America." There's a hint of wistfulness to his tone. "Some of the stuff they had, though -- it was beyond what was possible. I later found out they were getting help. From this guy." Robo turns back to face the... well, evil Atomic Robo. "He's called 'Nuclear Automan'. 'Auto', for short. Built by Thomas Edison; sold to Henry Ford, who donated him to the Nazis for their war effort. Proceeded to win the war for them. That was in another dimension, of course. At some point, he got bored, discovered dimension-crossing tech, found out the Nazis didn't win in every universe, and decided to go try and fix that. Didn't work out well for him." "So, alright," Robo continues, "here's where things get complicated. We've been using some of the tech I scrounged from him and Tesla to explore other dimensions -- some of them so similar to ours that they're pretty much indistinguishable. Except, sometimes, they're displaced a few years -- even a decade -- into the future or the past. We were exploring one such world five years ago -- a world that's ten years ahead of our time. With me so far?" "I was a Deep Space Nine fan, honestly. Picard *was* the thinking man's captain, though," Eddie mused, looking at the empty optics of 'Auto'. He sounded it out; Auto, then a more rounded Germanic 'Otto'; yes, he can see it now. How it worked out. The leaps you'd need, the changes. God, the things he could learn from a place where he went right instgead of wrong off the bat... Dragging his eyes from the husk, and his mind from the personal possibilities, Edward looked up at Robo again. That they'd been exploring, but that meant that it was just as likely that those worlds were exploring them *back*. "Dangerous, but I can see the appeal. I'm definitely following along...." "The world was a graveyard. And I mean a graveyard. Not even the cockroaches had survived," Robo explains, his voice becoming distant -- hollow -- as if at the memory. "The few cities that weren't just smoldering craters had been smashed to pieces, as if in some terrible, earth-shattering battle. There were fires... radioactivity. Bodies..." The words trail off to nothing. Then: "We searched for clues to what had happened. In case it might happen here, again. We searched for survivors, for someone to explain. There are so many super-beings on this planet; we figured someone had to survive. Searched for... weeks. Until -- we finally found one. One survivor, Mr. Nygma. Just one. And he was--" The lights in the room suddenly go out; somewhere above them, there is the sound of a distant crash -- followed by a dull, muffled explosion. And shouts. Robo immediately looks up, blue eyes flashing -- red 'backup' lights immediately kick in, the secondary generators activating. "...the heck?" Robo asks. Well, that's ominous. Both the 'graveyard' suggestion, and... well, the sudden flicker. "We better get on with that quickly, because if this is following my luck, we're going to get unpleaseant company. In the last two weeks I've seen a Talon, the Joker twice, and the Batman several times..." And now he's in a previously compromised location that's been robbed recently talking about the people who did it. It'll be just his luck that he's here if they return for a second round... or him. He did come here in full regalia, made it clear that Edward Nygma was investigating the case and had not been dissuaded... His ego told him this was over him. He quietly hoped, for once, that he was wrong. "--whatever it is," Robo tells Nygma, stepping toward the door -- another distant boom rattling overhead -- "you're safe in here. This entire room's got walls thick enough to keep Superman out; the locking mechanism for the doors are triple-encrypted. The only way to get in here without a twenty digit key-code and my own personal electromagnetic signature is to use the override signal, and that only works if you're already in here. So we're... perfectly..." Robo's words fade away; he is just staring at Nygma, now -- metal eyelids descending, narrowing at him. Specifically, at his chest. "...there's something going on in your... have you been -- injected, recently?" An instant after Robo asks that question, the door to the laboratory hisses, opening; the massive metal disc rolls aside -- a swell of smoke and heat entering. Robo turns, fists clenched -- right before a pair of softball sized electromagnets fly out and hit him in the chest with a metallic *CLUNK!*; an instant later, and an electric arc sizzles between the two -- causing him to instantly short circuit. His bright blue eyes go out; he drops to the ground like a dead weight. A figure steps out from the smoke -- a broad-shouldered figure with eyes that blaze like yellow spotlights. Something is different, this time -- the last time Edward saw him, there was something animalistic, something primal about the way he moved -- like he was a barely restrained beast. But now... there's nothing animalistic about his motions. They are cold, calculated, controlled. They are the motions of a tactician -- of a strategist -- of a brilliant, patient mind. And when he speaks... the synthesized voice Edward heard in his apartment has been replaced with a different voice -- a voice Edward would recognize from weeks ago. A voice he heard only once, on the phone. A voice that repeats the very same question that launched his investigation: "Who. Am. I?" "...shit. The Talon's blades." His hand betrayed the wound; he was still walking with his cane, and mending was slow thanks to being too active for words. "I was stabbed. Not injected. But that doesn't mean there couldn't be some sort of coating..." And then he's talking to himself, and Robo is out like a light. He turned his attention to the doorway; such a fool! He should have known, with the Tesladyne angle, that the Owls - the Owl? -- would have advanced and amazing technology. That they could slip a tracer on his clothing, or into his blood stream. Of course. "My employer," he said faintly. "Apparently. As for the rest of the answer... I'm working on it. Now, why don't we stand down and have a chat that does not involve injuring or incapacitating anyone?" Edward kept his hands up, placating even as he curled in on himself; he was small and harmless, except for the sword within his cane. He knew he couldn't walk in here with any of his higher tech items due to Tesladyne security, but it'd passed muster. "I'm Edward Nygma. And you're... a Talon? Or are you...?" The need for an answer overrode sense, and he scooted closer, every inch of body language screaming 'I am not a threat'. "You still haven't figured it out." The Talon's tone isn't disappointed; more amused. "I don't blame you. It is a rather convoluted story, isn't it?" His hand lifts; a grappling gun is clutched in his claws. There is a soft *PSSHT*, followed by the familiar sound of unraveling thread -- as the grappler *CLANGS* into its target, gripping it securely. Nuclear Automan's head. With a pull, he reels it in -- bringing the head to his outstretched hand. "But come on, Edward. You've always struck me as a clever sort. Try to work it out. What do you know about me, so far?" "Ruthless, patient, metholodical. A contingency for every item. You--" he tilts his head, again, looking between the man and the 'head' of the alter-Robo. "Your fighting style was all wrong the last time. This time... this time you're... Less man than beast. Was that even real, or was that calculated, too?" Did he intend for Edward to live? Was that fight just too easily won by Cardinal? And with that, he knows who the other is. He knows... He's not the Court of Owls of this earth... he's a Talon of another. "You're..." He tilts his head, before his lips split in a wild grin. "You're not /a/ Owl, not just /a/ Talon. You're /the/ Owl." Just like they have /the/ Bat. "Very good, Edward," and there isn't even a hint of condescension there; the Talon seems -- genuinely proud! "I injected both you and Cardinal with nanobots that carried the signature wave necessary to open this vault. You, at your apartment; Cardinal, when we fought at the warehouse. He thought I didn't notice his little tracking device on me," and here there is a hint of amusement again -- this time, it does sound paternal. Like a parent doting on a child who has made a simple mistake. "He'll make an excellent detective, one day." "I knew one of you would eventually come here, just as I knew the machine would eventually bring one of you into the laboratory, to see his 'doppelganger'. Which would grant me the opportunity I needed to steal the head. As for the Court of Owls, it was simple enough to take them over when I crossed from my world to yours. But there is one detail you've missed; one mistake you're making. The McHeighs' death -- have you figured out why? Not why I killed them; why I killed them in that way -- why I hired you to find out?" It was everything he could do not to preen, though he did say, "Yes, he will." Tim was brilliant - everything Edward would have ever wanted in a son or protege. But he was the Bat's-- and was struggling to become his own man, spread his wings. He'd always liked Tim. If he had to be beaten, he prefered to have it be by someone who was clever. "The method and set up would distract Batman. It'd be a painful slap in the face. It was practically a message for him. But he... he doesn't believe in the owls. He's much busier with the Joker, and YOU... you helped keep him distracted with him, didn't you? He told me you came, one of you came and told him..." Yes, okay, its all falling into place. Edward began to pace rapidly, words coming faster. "I'm useful, dogged-- brilliant but... predictable. A dog with a bone. Bait laid. If you couldn't get Cardinal, I was a useful subsitute... a very valid back up plan. You knew my background in art appreciation, left the Pollock clue. You wanted me to find the Owls. You wanted me to find you. Why?" "Yes," the Owl agrees, "you have it. You're almost there, Nygma. It was a ploy; a way to keep Batman from realizing what is happening. I knew that replicating his parents' death would drive him to the brink; supplying the Joker would keep him even busier. I knew he wouldn't believe the Court existed, which is why I chose them as my implement in the first place." "You are right -- I am the Owl, Nygma. But I wasn't, long ago. My world was invaded by a force from another universe. A third universe, apart from yours or mine; one where villains are heroes, and heroes, villains. They came to our planet, just as they will one day come to yours. And in the resulting conflict... everyone. Will. Die." The Talon is cracking open the head, now; both sets of claws dig deep into metal as his suit makes a familiar whirring sound -- applying enormous strength to it. As it begins to crumple, he continues: "My opponent was the Owl. He possessed all my intellect, all my strength, all my patience... but none of my restraint. And in the ensuing battle, I was forced to break. My. One. Rule." The metal creaks. "When the smoke cleared, I realized what I had done. And I realized what I must become. I threw away my toys, Nygma, and I became the Owl. I became a man willing to do whatever it takes to win." The eyes crack, long, jagged fractures forming over them; with a final groan, the head collapses -- crushed into nothing more than a chunk of scrap metal. "And I still lost. I gave up everything I stood for, and everyone still died. And so, when the machine found me, in that blasted ruin of a world... when I realized he came from another world -- set back ten years in the past, before any of this horror had come to pass... I realized what I had to do." He drops the ruined metal head to the ground. "I had to come here -- and replace the Batman. And do what he couldn't. I killed Lincoln March, the current Talon, and took his place. Then, when time came to select the next Talon, I made sure to perform the crime in such a fashion that it would push Batman to the brink -- but there's the question, Nygma." "I knew he wouldn't believe in the Court of Owls. I knew how his parents died; I knew that the murder would drive him to the brink. I knew you would find my clues. I even knew how to play you, Cardinal, Batman, Joker -- all of you -- like you were just wind-up toys. How, Nygma? How could I know these things? How could I know you all that well?" The Owl steps forward; his foot descends atop of the scrap metal that was once Nuclear Auto's head -- grinding it into the ground. And he asks, again: "Who. Am. I?" If he had not been pushed to the brink earlier, had not been forced to face what he had been forgotten... Edward would have been a gibbering mess, weeping into his hands. But no; that piece of his mind is whole and uninterrupted. It is not fractured and fragmented, it is one step closer to the madness he once had... but for now, he's at peace with that. The answer is worth it "Bruce Wayne. The Batman of another world. The only person.... prepared to endure the end of all ends," Edward said, green eyes wide. It borderlined on ecstacy-- to see it all fit together. His theories sound, yes, but the truth more wild and amazing then he might have guessed. "I figured it out, here, once. Years ago. It nearly cost me was left of my sanity to remember again. Now, you're here... and have nearly broken the Bat." He tipped his hat back, staring up in wonder and awe. The only one who could break the Bat.... was the Bat himself. Poetic, in a way. Horrible, too, but he could admire the streamlined function of the Owl's perfect hate machine, even if it's purpose was abhorrent. "And now, Nygma," the Owl rumbles, his talons reaching up to clutch the edge of his 'hood' -- lifting it, inch by inch, with a steady hiss of air -- exposing the face beneath. Bruce Wayne, but older -- much older. 15 years, at least; graying hair, a chiseled jaw -- an angry, snarled scar descending over his left eye, down to his lip -- giving him the appearance of a perpetual growl. There is a strange, horrifying serenity in his eyes; a peace of mind that is only possible once one has surrendered all hope, all chances for redemption. "The moment of truth." "In one week, I'm going to begin my campaign to save this world. Starting with Gotham. I will purge the criminal element from this city -- I will kill them all, Edward. The Joker. Bane. Poison Ivy. Black Mask. Every mad, sociopathic piece of death-worshipping garbage in Arkham and Black Gate. And I'm not going to stop. Not until we're ready. Not until I've eliminated every distraction -- and prepared us to fight the war against another world." "You have two choices, Edward. You can join me, and help me save this world... or, in one week's time, you can be among those slated to be purged." "Cake or death, huh?" Edward's response was predictably flippant; only he'd turn impish, eager, in the face of a crag-faced Batman maimed by years of suffering and pain. Only Edward Nygma would dare have the sheer cheek. "Of course, I choose cake. But the question is: what do you need Edward Nygma for?" It's a curious look, he turns on the other man, leaning on his cane now, all but rocking on his heels with childish excitement. "What does Batman -- any Batman -- /need/ Edward Nygma for? I mean, I was nearly ten years behind you in in training and experience... and now, I'm nearly twenty-five, from the look of you. What do you need an amnesiac detective for? What do I bring to the fight that you /need/? That you /want/?" It's not just ego, now; it's a genuine question. There's something that doesn't quite fit here. An offer so 'grand' -- anyone should jump at it. But Edward Nygma has to ask questions about it. The smile that the alt-verse Bruce Wayne wears is... not very far removed from a grimace. There's nothing cheerful about it, at least; spending years in a dead world -- fighting a losing battle against evil doppelgangers, watching those he loved died -- doesn't seem to have improved the ex-crimefighter's brooding disposition much. If anything, he seems even more grim than before. "You have underworld connections. Associates -- knowledge -- I want. My models project that with your intel, I can have the majority of Gotham's underworld dead or incapacitated at least three days earlier than expected. I like to run ahead of schedule, Edward." But then, just for a moment, that grim little smile falters -- eclipsed by a darker look. "I also need you to solve a series of puzzles. The original Owl's dimensional tunneling device -- it's encrypted. It's why I had to wait for someone else to arrive in my world, to escape. We'll need it, if we're going to eventually launch a pre-emptive assault against their world." "...I wonder, if he was... you, and you were him... In his world, what was I?" A hero? A family man? A work-a-day drudge, nothing of important? Edward can see a thousand possibilities. Did he have a mother who stayed, a father that encouraged with a kind hand instead of denied with a closed fist? Who was Edward Nygma, there? Edward... Nashton? He shakes himself out of it, blinking away the wonder. Of course he needs him for a puzzle. Encryption. Made to work against a mind like the Bat's, since-- if the Owl was another Bat, an inverted one... He'd fight his own mind harder than anything, wouldn't he? "I'll do it." With his own angle heavily applied. But the graying Bruce Wayne didn't need to know that. "Good." The hood is descending, sliding over alt-verse Bruce Wayne's head; once again, he is disguised -- his voice synthesized -- once again, becoming the Owl. "We need to leave, now. The soldiers are coming. The machine will be fine, once they remove the magnets. Come with me." And then the Owl is walking out of the room, back into the smoke-filled corridor -- his claws extending, his eyes gleaming. "Right, then. Let's go. Oh-- I do hate being rude..." Edward leaned over Robo's prone body, putting one hand to his chest to stay himself-- slipping a flashcard from his pocket recorder. He hadn't brought any weapons to Tesladyne, but they hadn't confiscated his vocal recorder. "Hey, don't know if you'll remember any of this, but I'm a big fan, and hope you don't take this the wrong way..." He patted his shoulder-- and in the dus beside, drew out a Bat Symbol as quick as he could. Hopefully Robo would get it-- his equipment had his personalized encryption... Robo wouldn't be familiar... but Batman would. Clue delivered, he scurried after the other bat, heart pounding in his chest. He had saved his own life... For now. Category:Log